


Bro: Watch

by forkidcest, thehatpile



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Exhibitionism, Imaginary Somnophilia, Incest, M/M, Masturbation, Porn, Questionable Parenting Decisions, Sex Toys, Sexual Fantasy, Shota, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-31
Updated: 2018-06-16
Packaged: 2019-02-26 11:55:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 6
Words: 6,537
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13235214
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/forkidcest/pseuds/forkidcest, https://archiveofourown.org/users/thehatpile/pseuds/thehatpile
Summary: It's not like you didn't know, when you decided to pick up a baby and take him home, that raising a kid would be challenging. You just hadn't anticipated this particular difficulty. And why would you? You're pretty sure that for most semi-parental figures, not fucking their kids requires exactly zero effort.For you, it's turning out to be quite a bit harder.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AstroPerversion](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AstroPerversion/gifts).



> By SZ, written for the 2017 Stridercest Secret Santa gift exchange.

You are 98% sure that your kid brother wants the D. This is a problem.

It's not like you didn't know, when you decided to pick up a baby and take him home, that raising a kid would be challenging. You just hadn't anticipated this particular difficulty. And why would you? You're pretty sure that for most semi-parental figures, not fucking their kids requires exactly zero effort.

For you, it's turning out to be quite a bit harder.

Dave, now only a few weeks past his eleventh birthday, has transformed over the last few months from an adorable, sometimes annoyingly precocious child to an adorable, wildly oversexed little deviant. You figure it's got to be puberty, though you wouldn't know it to look at him--for all Dave's outgrowing his clothes faster than ever, he's still smooth-skinned and baby-faced. He's still very much a _kid,_ even if his voice cracks occasionally. Usually when he's shoving something up his ass.

Yeah. That's a thing, now.

You weren't exactly a late bloomer yourself, but you're pretty sure you didn't figure out the joys of ass play until you were at least thirteen. Of course, with the exception of one brief but memorable foster placement, you also didn't grow up surrounded by assorted sexual paraphrenalia, so maybe this one's on you. 

Nice job, Bro, you fucked your kid up good.

It's definitely your fault he has access to a wide variety of sex toys, since he's been raiding your closet for them. You briefly considered locking them up when he started doing that, but opted instead to gather up all of the really big ones and put them in a box labeled "catastrophic rectal prolapse for dummies," adding a graphic hand drawn illustration of a forlorn smuppet with stuffing trailing from its rump for good measure. It seems to have done the trick; you've been paying attention, and while the toys Dave's been borrowing aren't exactly age-appropriate, they're at least safe. Dave is creative and resourceful; if he wants to fuck himself, and he very clearly does, he'll find a way. You figure your collection is a better option than the likely alternatives of produce and household objects.

Or, you know, dudes.

As both a former street kid and an auteur in the shockingly lucrative business of online puppet pornography, you are more aware than most that there are a whole lot of perverts out there. You've never found the knowledge particularly troubling. You've always been confident that with your considerable skills in surveillance, stealth, and swordkind, any asshole who tried laying so much as a lascivious finger on your little bro wouldn't even have time to regret the error of their child molesting ways before finding their torso full of sharp objects.

You hadn't previously considered the possibility that the asshole in this scenario might be you. You're sure as fuck considering it now, though.

The screen in front of you shows a small but crystal clear picture of Dave lying on his back on the futon, stark fucking naked, one knee bent to his chest, three fingers working in his ass. In your professional opinion as an internet pornographer, this is premium fucking content. The kid's a natural. If you put this shit on the web, people would pay out the fucking nose and beg for more. In your official capacity as Dave's legal guardian, however, there's no fucking way you're letting anyone lay eyes on this footage. It's not even being saved to your hard drive; since the first time you got a digital eyeful of Dave's masturbatory explorations, you've had all the cameras in the house set to streaming only. You may be a bona fide professional pervert, but you don't mess around with the illegal shit. You've always figured if you're in the mood for anything sicker than barely legal twinks getting rawed, that's what cartoons are for. Cartoons, and puppets. Child porn is a hard no.

Then again, you're the dude squeezing your dick at the sight of your kid brother fingering himself, so. Apparently that hard line isn't exactly where you thought it was.

Ha ha.

On the screen, Dave lets go of his dick to reach for something on the floor, just outside the camera's visual field. He comes back with a smooth purple dildo and fuck, you know it's a modestly medium-sized model, but in his small hand, with his thin slippery fingers smearing lube along the shaft, it looks pretty big.

Between his skinny thighs, it looks fucking enormous.

He sets the shiny head of the toy against his hole and pushes. His eyes roll back as the head pops in, his slim little cock twitches, and you give in, unzip your jeans and release your aching dick, fist it furiously while Dave slides the dildo deeper. When he starts pumping it in and out you slow to match his rhythm, and when he shudders and comes, spattering his chest with thin spunk, it takes you less than a minute to get yourself off to the idea of going out there and grabbing him, picking him right up and flipping him over, bending him over the back of the futon and showing him what it feels like to get fucked with a real cock, longer and thicker than the toy he's been playing with. 

 Well, fuck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was meant to be a one shot, but then I realized that a) I couldn't cram in all the good bits I'd written without writing more interstitial bits and b) the upcoming Stridercest Week is a perfect excuse for extending the scenario further, so there will be a few more installments. Stay tuned for Bro and Dave eventually occupying the same room (!) and achieving some form of physical contact (!!) and maybe even *gasp* _fucking?_


	2. Chapter 2

You have a big dick. It's not, like, a ludicrously huge porn star cock, but it's big. Big enough that some of your partners have had trouble taking it comfortably. Big enough that your toys of similar dimensions are buried in the only-somewhat-exaggerated-risk-of-rectal-prolapse box at the top of your closet, which Dave has so far been smart enough to stay out of.

Which means if you fucked him, your dick would definitely be the biggest thing he'd ever taken.

You're not proud of how much time you spend thinking about that.

Today Dave is using a vibrating prostate massager, curved just right to make him shiver and whine as he rocks back and forth on it, one hand tugging on his slim dick, the other braced on the arm of the futon. And hell, all you can think about is making him ride you like that, imagine gripping his skinny hips and holding him down, flush against you, so you could feel his hole clenching tight on your cock, watch him wiggle and squirm and moan at the feel of being stuffed so full.

You've sat in that exact spot on the futon and imagined grabbing him and pulling him down, sitting him in your lap and letting him feel the length of your cock hardening under his ass, holding him by the hips and grinding it up against him. You'd snatch his shades away so you could see how his eyes would widen at the size of it... you'd keep your eyes on his, watch his expression while you shoved your hand down the back of his jeans and stroked a fingertip over his hole. 

In your mind's eye he's simultanously nervous and aroused, intimidated by the size of your cock, but eager for it at the same time. It's easy to picture; after all you've seen him doing, you know exactly how his face looks when he's eager for something in his ass.

He's so small you'd be almost more than he could handle, but you'd make him take it, shove in deep and hold him there, hands hard on his bony hips. Maybe you'd even be able to see the shape of your cock distorting the thin skin of his belly, like you've seen in porn, skinny twinks sinking down on long thick dildos, leaning back to show off the bulges of the toys inside them--your dick isn't that big, not like those fake monster cocks, but then your little brother is smaller than any twink you've seen in porn, so maybe...

Fuck, he'd be so tight. You'd have to take your time prepping him, and he'd be scared at first but you'd make him feel so good, stretching him out on your fingers first and then teasing him with your dick, rubbing it against his slippery lubed up hole until he was begging for it, then popping just the head of it in and out and in again, teasing at his rim--tight, god, so tight--and when you finally pushed all the way into him you'd have to hold still to let him adjust. You'd just sit back and watch him gasp and squirm on your cock, overwhelmed with having the whole thing inside him. You'd play with his little dick until he came, ass muscles clenching and spasming around you, and then when he was sprawled loose and fucked out on top of you, boneless as a rag doll, that's when you'd fuck him for real, jostling his little loose-limbed body with the force of your thrusts, your hips lifting him right up, making him bounce on your cock til you let go and filled him up with come.

On the screen, Dave is sprawled panting on the futon, eyes half-closed, jizz smeared on his stomach. There's a little bit smeared on the screen, too, shit--you didn't realize you'd shot so far. You wipe it off with your free hand and refocus on the image of your brother as he reaches down to the base of the toy with a shaky hand and switches it off. He doesn't pull it out, though, and now you're imagining staying inside him, after. You hold your spent dick and daydream about chilling on the futon with Dave dozing in your lap, leaning back against your chest, the back of his head resting heavily against your shoulder, legs spread and dangling to either side, your cock snug and warm in his ass. He'd stir sleepily when you stroked his flanks, caressed the soft insides of his splayed thighs, rolled his balls gently between your fingers; he'd squirm when you pinched his nipples, and writhe at the feeling of your dick hardening again inside him, slowly swelling and stiffening until you were ready to go again.

You'd do him slow, the second time, a nice long lazy fuck. You could hold him down with a hand on his belly, this time, see if you could feel the pressure of your cock under your palm, grinding so deep inside him, milking his prostate until he was sobbing with the pleasure of it, writhing in your lap. You wonder how many times you could make him come on your cock before you'd lose it, flip him over and pound his ass as hard as you could, slamming into him, and flood his insides with another load of jizz.

You picture it dripping out of him, imagine thumbing it back inside the tender gape of his hole after fucking him loose and sloppy. You could slip a plug inside him easy, after stretching him so wide with your cock. Slick it up with your good warming lube, a nice deep soft heat to soothe his sore hole, relax those overworked muscles... and keep him wet and open, ready for more. You know just the toy you'd like to use, too, a nice thick plug in the box at the top of your closet, bright red with a subtly heart-shaped base that would look so nice nestled between the pale cheeks of your little brother's ass. 

Shit fucking christ, you are a terrible guardian.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fun fact: while I was finishing up this part, I got a robocall asking if I was in need of urgent prayer


	3. Chapter 3

The hardest thing about this whole situation--well, that's definitely your insistent dick, but the most _difficult_ thing, the thing that has you barely hanging on to control of your baser urges, is that you are by now almost entirely sure that Dave wants you. Not just a cock in his ass--which the evidence suggests he most assuredly does want--but yours in particular. 

You're almost completely certain that if you gave in and pursued your desire to fuck him, he'd be down. Not just down--enthusiastic. Eager. You think he might want your dick almost as much as you want to give it to him.

Whether or not he wants it should be immaterial. He's eleven years old. That's too young to be fucking anyone, much less an adult, much less the only adult solely responsible for ensuring his wellbeing. He's your brother. He's your _kid._

He's stark naked on the futon, legs splayed open, fingering a realistic dildo with a thoughtful look on his face.

You should stop watching.

You don't.

You watch while he lubes his fingers and opens himself up and slowly works the toy into his ass, and you think about it for the rest of the day, and late that night you lie back and fist your dick and think about making your little brother ride you reverse cowgirl. You could hold both his wrists behind his back in one hand so he couldn't touch himself, lift them to make him lean forward and give you a perfect view of his pretty ass, of your thick cock spreading him wide, sliding in and out of that tight hole. He'd be struggling to keep fucking himself on you in that position, shoulders straining, thighs trembling. You could stroke down his spine with your free hand, pet his shivering flanks, maybe smack that ass, see if it makes him squeeze you even tighter. You could run a finger along his rim, all stretched taut and slippery with lube, could feel the slide of your dick in him as he shoved himself back on you, stuffing himself full. You wonder if he could come like that, from just your cock inside him. You wonder if he'd wear himself out trying, ride you til the muscles in his thighs gave out, until he slumped down on top of you, unable to use his arms for leverage or even balance, because yeah, you'd keep hold of his skinny wrists, make him work for it until he came on your cock or until he couldn't take it anymore, until he couldn't do anything but writhe weakly and sob, begging you to touch him, desperate for release.

You are one sick fuck.

It could never be said that you are a man suffering from a shortage of sex puppets. You are remarkably well-supplied in that area. Yet here you are, caught up in yet another fantasy of using your little brother like some kind of fuck doll.

It's because of all the things you've been watching him do, it's got to be. You never entertained a single sexual thought about Dave before he started sticking your toys up his ass on camera. You're making it worse by watching, and by avoiding him; when's the last time you even saw Dave in a non-pornographic context? 

You heave yourself off the futon and go into his room.

Dave looks like the kid he is, curled around his pillow, face slack and soft with sleep. There's a bit of drool at the corner of his mouth. He looks very young, which he is, and innocent, which he definitely isn't, and more precious than anything else you can imagine. Seeing him like this reminds you of when he was a baby.

It doesn't work. You still want to fuck him.

You are standing over your kid brother's bed, watching him sleep, and you've got your hand on your dick, which is hard as fuckin' steel with how bad you wanna stick it in him.

God, you're a terrible person.

Dave's always been a heavy sleeper. When he was a baby you could pick him up and tote him around with you, whatever you were doing, and he'd just keep snoozing away. When he was a bit older, five or so, there were times when he nodded off during dinner and faceplanted in his food, and barely stirred while you cleaned him up and changed him into his pajamas before putting him to bed. He still hardly rouses when you carry him to bed, those times when he falls asleep on the futon during a movie, though that happens less and less frequently.

You wonder how much he would sleep through now. If you were careful, you're sure you could undress him without waking him up. Beyond that, it would be trickier. How much could you touch him, really, without breaking his slumber? Could you stroke his little dick to hardness? Play with his balls? Spread his thighs and get a nice up close view of that tight little hole? 

You don't touch him, but you keep thinking about it. Back out in the living room, stretched out on the futon, you close your eyes and imagine testing that little pucker with a fingertip, feeling how much it would give. Between the workout he gave it earlier and the relaxation of sleep, you think it would yield pretty easily. You could probably get a lubed up finger into him without waking him up. Maybe two. He's such a sound sleeper, after all--he'd squirm a bit, wriggle around in the sheets, and you'd stay very still until he settled down again, wait for his breathing to even out before slipping them in deeper. You'd keep it slow and gentle, stretch him oh so carefully, gradually, and he'd whimper and moan in his sleep, unconsciously thrusting back against your fingers, enjoying the teasing sensation in some delicious dream while you enjoyed the warm clutch of his muscles around your fingers, the way his clenching rim would loosen, little by little, til you had him stretched wide, humping his pillow in his sleep with three of your fingers buried deep in his ass.

And then--then you'd ease them out, and he'd whine softly, and you'd hitch up his hips and set the head of your dripping cock against his hole, and that's when you'd rouse him, if you'd managed to get that far, with one long smooth steady thrust, so he'd come awake with you balls deep inside him.

The evidence all over your hand and stomach suggests that you would _not_ be able to get that far, regardless of how soundly Dave slept. It's not like your lack of stamina really matters, anyway, since your hand and your overactive imagination are getting all the action, here. You're not about to molest your little brother in his sleep.

You're not.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this was supposed to be chapter 4 but you know what, it's been done for weeks and I don't think switching the order of these particular chapters is going to fuck with the continuity
> 
> ps. I won't make you wait so long for the next bit


	4. Chapter 4

You haven't seen much of Dave lately. Or, well, you've seen a lot of him--all of him, in fact, repeatedly, in a variety of interesting positions--but he hasn't seen much of you. You've made yourself pretty scarce since the Dave Strider ass exploration show started up in your living room.

He almost always puts on these shows on the futon. You don't know why; kid's got a perfectly good bed of his own. The futon's supposed to be yours, but now you can't crash there without vividly picturing the things you've seen him doing on it. It's not exactly conducive to restful sleep. It is conducive to relentless boners and elaborately detailed fantasies about all the ways you could make your kid brother squirm and whine and beg you to fuck him with your toys, your fingers, your tongue, your cock. You haven't jerked off this much since you were a teenager.

Sometimes you think you can smell his spunk. 

So you've been avoiding him. You've needed time--and space--to think.

There are number of possibilities you've considered. Dave is testing you somehow, trying to determine your boundaries or the extent of your personal perversion. Dave is attempting to execute a sting operation to get you put away. Dave is just fucking with you. Dave assumes that you haven't been paying attention, either to him or to the regular disappearance of sex toys from your closet, and has no idea that you've seen any of his pornographic little mastubation sessions.

You've had ample time to consider all of these scenarios over the past few months. None of them really hold up. And with the declining estimated probability of each alternative explanation, the evidence weighs more and more heavily in favor of another set of hypotheses: Dave either knows, or suspects, or hopes that you're watching. Dave wants you to watch. Dave gets off on performing for an audience--for you, specifically. 

This is the main thing that makes you suspect that he's angling for your cock--the fact that he's doing this in your space, in front of your cameras. Not that he knows where all of them are, of course, but he's aware of their existence. He's familiar enough with your hobbies. He knows they're around. He might not know that the way he's got his legs spread, one foot propped up on the back of the futon, one on the floor, is giving you a perfectly unobstructed view of his asshole as he strokes it with a lubed finger, rubbing slick little circles that make his dick twitch against his stomach--but he must know that the possibility is there. He must know that you could be watching him as he presses that finger in to the first knuckle and tugs gently at his rim, stretching the muscle, while his other hand massages his tight little balls.

He definitely knows that the string of silicone beads he picks up next is yours. He got them out of your closet, after all, like all the other toys he's been playing with lately. He fingers them thoughtfully, curls his index finger and thumb into a tight ring and slowly pulls them through it, and you know he's trying to imagine it while he's lubing them up, wondering how they'll feel inside him, and fuck, fuck, he's slipping the first one in already. He barely fingered himself at all, and the first one, okay, is really only a little bigger than his fingertip, but that's just the first one, and he's already pressing the next one against his hole.

You glance at his face and are caught for a long moment by the pleasure there. He's so into this, he _loves_ this, and then he bites his lip, a look of intense concentration focusing his features for an instant, and then his mouth opens on a gasp you wish you could hear, his eyelashes flutter, and you look back at his hand on the toy, three beads in him now, and he's tugging lightly on the string of them, just hard enough to open him a little, for the smooth black sphere to peek out for a moment before he releases the tension and his hole swallows it back up.

The next one meets more resistance. You can see the strain in his thighs, how the muscles in his forearm tighten as he pushes it in. His rim stretches tight around the circumference of the round bead, and then his hole yields to the pressure, lets it slip inside, and all those tense muscles go slack as his mouth drops open in a moan.

Fuck, he looks so good like that. You're unzipping your jeans already, good intentions evaporating as he tugs on the beads again, and when he grabs for his dick with his other hand you do the same.

While you're cleaning up--again--you turn the problem over in your mind. No matter what Dave's aiming for with his probable-exhibitionism, you need to maintain your role as his big brother, and you've been falling down on the job. If he hasn't noticed yet, he will soon; you can't just keep avoiding him. And while you don't know if there's any way to truly make things go back to normal, you've got an idea of how to put the two of you back on familiar ground, at least. Well... "ground" may be a bit of a misnomer.

You put your plan into motion the next day, summoning him to the roof via a scribbled note you pin to the wall over his turntables while he's fiddling with a mix, flashing away at the thunk of the shuriken into the plaster.

It doesn't go according to plan.

The strife itself is fine. It feels good to face off across a pair of blades, it's easy for you to settle into the rhythm of it--advancing, striking, parrying, correcting his stance, striking, feinting, striking, striking--and you're proud of how well he does, maintaining his guard and his stance through a flurry of attacks, even though you've been slacking off on his training recently. 

The problem starts when the strife ends.

You win, as you always do, but now you know intimately what Dave looks like when he's turned on, so when you have him on his back on the roof, your sword at his throat, you look at his flushed face and the sound of his panting breaths cuts right through your carefully maintained chill. He props himself up on his elbows, shifts his legs minutely, spreading them so slightly you wouldn't have noticed if you didn't already have your gaze fixed on his crotch. What the fuck. Apparently your kid brother gets off on getting his ass kicked, and apparently you get off on the sight of him lying there blushing and delicious like a prize, like a gift, like you could do anything to him right now--

You abscond the fuck out of there.

And if you just about jerk yourself raw thinking about shoving Dave up against the AC unit and fucking him there in the open air, well. At least you're not doing it in his fucking bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it keeps happening


	5. Chapter 5

You cling to the faint possibility--hope? Sure, call it hope--that Dave is just acting out because you haven't been paying him enough attention, and your distance and avoidance has only served to exacerbate the problem. Maybe all you need to do to make this problem go away is to stop hiding away, spend more time with him, give him some positive, thoroughly non-sexual brotherly attention. 

And even if that's not it, if you spend more time with your ass parked on the futon, he'll have less opportunity to make it the stage for his amateur kiddie porn solo act. So really, it's win-win.

You plan ahead and jerk off in advance, take the edge off so you don't have a repeat of the sudden boner strifing incident, and you make a good faith, utterly doomed effort to think about anything other than him while you're doing it.

You tell him you just finished a big project. (It's even true--you kind of poured a lot of energy into your work while you were trying to avoid the issue.) You make a point of being in the living room in the afternoons, watching TV or messing with your decks or finding new ways to glitch your way through videogames. When the weekend rolls around the two of you spend a whole evening together, ripping on shitty made for TV movies and eating your weight in empanadas from the place on the corner, and it's great. Dave tries to suppress his smile, play it cool, but it keeps breaking through. He's really happy to be hanging out with you, and you're having fun too. Just bros being bros. 

Sure, maybe you look at the way the fabric of his jeans hugs his ass and thighs when he bends to grab the remote, maybe you can't help the pulse of arousal you feel when he moans extravagantly around a bite of chorizo and cheese, but you can ignore it. You're doing fine. And Dave... God, you love this kid. He's quick and sharp and fuckin' hilarious. You're impressed by his dry wit and impeccable sense of timing, simultanously proud and baffled, because how the fuck did you raise this little smartass genius?

You feel like maybe everything's going to be okay. 

But the next day he's back on your screen, bare-ass naked on the futon, fingering his ass like a fuckin' pro.

God fucking damn it.

He reaches over the edge of the futon for something out of frame, which turns out to be a plug made of shimmering pink pyrex. It's wet (why is it wet?) and he uses his discarded shirt to dry it off before applying lube. You're on the edge of your seat, barely breathing as he gets up on his knees and bends forward, thighs wide apart, one hand holding the toy steady while the other reaches behind him. You can't see it from this angle, but you imagine he's palming his ass cheek, spreading himself open--

He lowers himself slowly, thighs tense and trembling, and when the tip of the plug touches his hole you see him gasp, open-mouthed, startled pleasure all over his face, and that's when you clue in. Hot water, that's why it was wet, he had it sitting in hot water--and now he's squeezing his eyes shut as he eases down on it, working it inside him little by little, shivering and moaning as it stretches him wide. He stops and wriggles a little, breathing hard, switches hands and leans back and now that his arm's not in the way you can see it between his spread legs, the smooth surface gleaming with lube, and you wonder if the heat of it is helping, easing the too-tight muscle of his rim where it clenches and clings around the solid unyielding glass.

He rises up a little bit, enough to ease it out an inch or so, and then pushes back down on it, forces it deeper, and his head falls back on a silent cry as the widest bulge of it slips past his rim and the rest of it follows in a sudden quick slide.

His fingers play around the base of it, jostling it a little, smearing the lube around his hole. He moves around, gets up on his knees, one hand awkwardly steadying the base of it like he's worried it might fall out despite how tightly his rim is clenched around the comparatively slender neck of the thing. You're shuddering right along with him, watching him shiver and pant, thinking about that shifting weight inside him, so hard and heavy, so _hot_.

He wriggles back toward the arm of the futon and bends forward, still on his knees, pressing his chest down and raising his hips, back curving in a lovely smooth arch, ass thrust up like he's presenting it, offering-- _fuck_ , he's posing like a porn star--but no, you tell yourself, this isn't for you, he's just trying to make gravity work for him, angling his body to get the solid weight of the toy to press against his prostate, and you can tell when he gets it by the way his shivering intensifies, the minute undulating squirm of his hips.

You almost give your dick friction burn with how hard you're suddenly jerking it. All you can think of is how he's got his back to the hallway, you could be standing over him in seconds, watching him tremble and hearing the little sounds he's making--you could have that ass right in front of you, spank those pale cheeks and make him jolt and moan at the shift of the heavy plug against his prostate. You could ease it out of him, see up close how his hole would grasp at it as you pulled it free, all hot and slick and ready, you could take his hips in your hands and just pull him back onto your dick. And god, he'd be so deliciously fever-hot inside, it would feel so good--

Even after you've come and cleaned up, that picture keeps playing behind your eyes. Your brilliant little brother, all slick and warm and ready for you, and maybe he'd get that same shock of pleasure on his face when you filled him with your cock, maybe he'd whine and shove back on it as you fucked into him, maybe, maybe--

Shit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> .....so i meant to post this chapter a while ago, made the draft and everything, and then i got distracted while i was poking at it and didn't come back for over a month. oops.
> 
> i do apologize for making you wait so long. chapter six (or, as the file is designated in scrivener, "chapter the one where u finally touch him") will be up by the end of the week.


	6. Chapter 6

Even as you suspect more and more that your little brother wants your dick and is making a very deliberate play for it, even as suspicion approaches conviction, you also recognize that your judgment may be clouded by how very, very much you want to fuck him. You're also painfully aware that as the adult in this situation, you have a duty to behave responsibly; as Dave's guardian, your job is to do what's best for him, whether or not it's what he wants. You haven't always been very good at that aspect of parenting. You think, sometimes, that despite the best of intentions, you've managed to really fuck the kid up.

Literally fucking him in the ass, though--like you really, really, _really_ want to--that would be so much worse than any of the fuckups that preceded it. Regardless of whether he'd be down for it. It doesn't matter if he'd be willing, eager, even desperate to take your cock. It's completely out of the question.

You keep telling yourself that.

Dave is upside down on the futon, knees hooked over the back of it, head hanging off the edge of the seat. He's biting his lip, red in the face, hand wrapped loosely around his dick--he's barely stroking it, more focused on whatever he's got up his ass this time.

You can't tell what he's using at first, think of flashstepping to the closet to take a quick inventory of your collection, but then he shifts and spreads his legs a little, and you think you recognize the base of the toy in the moment before his hand obscures it. A heartbeat later, you know you were right from the way his skinny body arches, the desperate squirm of his hips and clench of his thighs as the beaded shaft rotates inside him. His mouth opens, and God, you wish you could hear him--and then you do, the thready echo of a moan from the living room.

On the screen, his eyes flutter, close, then open and fix on the camera.

_Fuck._

You're frozen for a long moment. You can feel your thundering heartbeat in your chest, in your motionless hand grasping your cock. His gaze is direct and challenging, like he's watching you watch him, staring right into you. Like he knows exactly what you want. Like he's daring you to take it.

God, you want to.

His eyes flutter closed again, and you unfreeze, take a deep breath. Another. Your hand squeezes down on your dick so tightly it's almost painful.

(Like it would be inside him, if you--)

You could get up right now, go into the living room and have your hands on him before he realized you were there.

You're out of your seat and halfway down the hall before you consciously decide to do what you really, really shouldn't--what you're already doing.

You flashstep behind the futon and stand over Dave, watching his face, listening to his little noises. His eyes are squeezed shut. He doesn't know you're there.

Well.

You put a hand on his ankle. He flails wildly, would probably end up on the floor if not for your hand still on him, grip firm, thumb just barely stroking the bony knob of his ankle.

He stares up at you, panic in his eyes. You raise an eyebrow, keeping your face otherwise blank.

"This a fuckin' audition?"

Dave says "Fuck! Bro!" and comes, shivering all over, biting his lip. The tension bleeds out of him, leaving him limp and panting on the futon, face flushed a hectic red, skinny chest spattered with translucent jizz. You want to lick it off him. Your cock is a solid bar in your jeans, so hard it almost hurts. You want to shift forward, press it against the pale slender arch of his foot.

You shouldn't. You do it anyway.

Dave inhales sharply. "Oh my god, Bro," he whispers.

You force your fingers to relax, let your hand rest loosely on his ankle. You're still stroking little circles on the knob of it with the ball of your thumb, but you're not holding on to him any longer. He can pull away, now.

He doesn't.

It's quiet in the room, no sound but the faint hum of the little motor in the probe shoved up your kid brother's ass, still twisting away, and his shallow panting breaths, and yours.

The sole of his foot is firm against the bulge of your erection. You grind forward, just a little, and he pushes back, just a little, and his breath is shaky, his eyes locked on your face. He presses harder, strokes along the length of it with the ball of his foot and flexes his toes against the head, biting his lip, eyes widening.

"Jesus fuck, Bro, your dick is huge," he says, breathless, sounding awed, and really, you'd think you'd be used to people being impressed and/or intimidated by the size of it by now. It shouldn't make a damn bit of difference to you if a kid with practically no basis for comparison thinks you have a huge cock.

And yet.

It's the stupidest thing, but the way your little brother's looking at you has your ego puffing up like the smuppet stars of the most cartoonish inflation porn on your website. His gaze trails up your body, lingers on your chest, searches your face, and slides back down to the bulge in your jeans like your dick is a magnet for his fascination.

You bite down hard on the desire to ask if he likes it. If he wants to see it, touch it, suck it, find out how big it feels inside him...

He pushes a little harder, flexing his toes again, and you groan, pushing back, rubbing at his ankle with your thumb. You're going to jizz your pants humping your little brother's foot. What the fuck. That's not even your fetish.

Dave's hips are moving again, and he slides his other foot away from you along the back of the futon, opening his thighs wider, drawing your eyes from his face to the toy up his ass, the rim of his hole gleaming with lube, clenching around the base of the shaft rotating inside him. You thrust against the sole of his foot and he grinds it harder against your cock and when your grip tightens reflexively he gasps and squirms, but not like he wants to pull away.

He's arching and moaning and his little dick is stiffening again, he's so into this, he's _loving_ it, and you think feverishly of what it could be like to have him moving like that on your dick--you've got a vibrating cock ring you could wear, to make him writhe and whine like this, to make you last like you can't right now, already on the edge from the sight and the sound of him as much as from the pressure of his foot, and this time when he says "Fuck, _Bro,"_ \--breathless, shivering, with avid eyes fixed on your face--you're the one who comes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> stay tuned next time for a painfully awkward, stilted attempt at conversation! 
> 
> what, you thought they were going to bang?


End file.
